But the wolf was much scarier than an elephant.
The wolf was gray, aside from its black nose and black eyes and very white teeth. It, too, had crazy-intense eyes.
It made a sound approximately like “Grrrr-grr.” Very low and deep in its throat.
All of this was alarming to Mack.
But despite the fact that Mack knew he should be focusing on the wolf’s slavering jaws—jaws that could without the slightest doubt not just blow your house down, little pig, little pig, but chew it and swallow it no matter how many hairs you had on your chinny-chin-chin—Mack found his gaze drawn irresistibly to two very odd details.
First, the giant bearded guy was wearing sweat pants and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. The pants were pale blue with a yellow stripe down the side. The T-shirt was stretched so tight over the massive upper body that it was like a grown man wearing a baby T. The giant’s stomach was bare, revealing at least half of a six-pack.
The second thing, even more astounding, was that around the giant’s neck hung what was unquestionably the biggest electric guitar in the world.
“What do you want?” the giant roared.
They stared, not quite knowing how to answer. Because none of them had a lot of experience dealing with giant wolf-wrangling guitar players.
Finally Mack said, “Um . . .”
“Well?”
“We’re, um, we’re the Magnificent Twelve. Or four of them, anyway.”
The giant blinked his crazed blue eyes. He got a sort of crafty look and smirked a bit privately. Then, with patently false surprise, he said, “Wow. Is it that late? I thought it was still the twentieth century.”
“No,” Mack said. “We’re, um, it’s, um, you know, the twenty-first.”
The giant nodded. “Well, come on in, then.”
Mack and the others hesitated.
He thought he intercepted a sly look between wolf and giant.
The giant broke into a grin. “Don’t worry about old Fenrir here. He won’t eat you. Just give him a little scratch behind the ears.”
Fenrir made what might be a wolf smile. Or not.
Mack stepped across the threshold. He swallowed hard, bit his lip, scrunched his eyes, and gingerly patted the wolf’s ruff.
“Come on, I want you to hear this,” the giant said. “And give me your honest opinion. Don’t be scared: I don’t do the whole Mjolnir thing anymore.”
They followed the giant and the wolf through the door, which slammed shut behind them.
The room was not at all what they would have expected based on the door. It was big—it would have to be. The walls were massive tree trunks with white plaster between them. There were ancient tapestries that showed ancient battle scenes in faded, muddy colors. But it looked as if many more tapestries had once hung on these walls. And Mack could clearly see an empty place that had once boasted a chandelier.
And the room had some more modern elements. For one thing, IKEA furniture.
It was normal IKEA furniture, but about a dozen tables had been shoved together to form one wide but low table, at which this massive creature could not possibly sit and eat.
Nevertheless there was food on the table: half a dozen two-liter bottles of some unknown soda and several ripped-apart packs of cookies. There was also a vase being used as an ashtray.
At one end of the chamber stood a low stage, and on that stage were massive amps. Inhumanly big. Metallica sized.
“What’s a Mjolnir?” Mack whispered.
Dietmar had gone even paler than his normal pale. “Mjolnir? You don’t know Mjolnir? It’s the hammer of Thor.”
Chapter Twenty-six